Luiza raised up the little curtain, and looked out.
“Let us go towards Lumiar; that is the best place. Shall we?” she said.
He shrugged his shoulders. All places were alike to him.
Luiza recovered her tranquillity; she took off her veil and gloves, smiling, and fanned herself with her handkerchief, which diffused a delicate perfume around. Bazilio caught her hand and pressed on the fine skin with its delicate blue veins long and ardent kisses.
“You promised me to be sensible,” she said to him smiling, and looking at him from under her long lashes.
“One kiss, a single kiss on the arm! What harm is there in that? Don’t be prudish.” And he looked at her with an ardent glance.
The curtains of the coupé were of red silk, and the light that filtered through them enveloped her in a soft rose-colored aureole; her lips were of a humid red, like the petal of a rose, and in the liquid depths of her eyes gleamed a starry light. Unable to control his emotion, he passed his trembling fingers over her hair and brow with a tenderness that had something of cowardice in it.
“Not even a kiss on the cheek?” he said humbly.
“Only one?” asked Luiza.
He kissed her softly on the cheek near the ear; but this contact inflamed his desires. He caught her to his breast with ardor, and pressed kisses on her neck, her face, her hat—